Wonder of wonders, Katherine thought as she put the kettle on to boil water for the café presse. Looking out the window, she saw glittering sunshine, winter-sharp and glassy, striking the slate on the patio. There hadn’t been a sunny day in so long that she had forgotten how breathtaking the pale blue sky looked with the outline of bare trees fringing it on the farther hills. After a difficult night’s rest, when bad dreams woke her every hour, she suddenly felt a burst of energy to be painting. The cat butted her leg to be let out and when she did, she saw her breath visible as frost. Too cold for painting outside, drat.
She was glad of the warmth offered by the Chinese silk wrapper and large black wool shawl, both of which were gleaned at last year’s vide-grenier in Grimault, a hamlet so small there was no café, nothing but a jumble of old houses, a decrepit church, and a fenced-off cemetery. “I must come back and paint this view,” she had said to Michael as they stood at the metal cemetery gate, looking down the slight incline at the tiled roofs that traced a couple of twisty streets. Now, she remembered the place and promised herself a visit after the worst of winter had passed.
Coffee in hand, she settled onto the chaise, ignoring the dogs, who were Michael’s responsibility when he was home. She could hear her husband banging around in the bedroom above and knew he’d be down in a couple of minutes. She needed some time to think. The heater kicked on with a loud gurgling sound, promising more comfort in a few minutes.
Yesterday had been horrible. Even if it had been a nasty prank, that ugly severed head, the bloody stump of its neck, and the tongue that hung out of its mouth would have been a major fright. But the note confirmed what she thought. They, or at least Pippa, were being warned off shining a light on the murder of Mme Sabine. Why, though? Why bother with a couple of expat amateurs who weren’t doing anything other than revisiting the site of the crime and asking a few questions? And, she added to herself, not getting anywhere. Whoever sent the message had to be someone who lived in the area. Otherwise, how would he have been able to watch Pippa? Assuming it was a he.
Michael interrupted her thoughts with a squeeze of her shoulder as he passed her on his way into the kitchen. She knew he was pouring himself a mug of the brew to carry with him on the first dog walk of the day.
“It’s cold this morning, honey, best wear the sheepskin jacket. And remember, Emile’s poor dog is likely to be outside, ready to warm himself up by barking madly at Gracey and Fideaux.”
“I think that dog needs to learn how to get along in this neighborhood,” he said as he doubled back to pluck the jacket off a peg.
“Yes, well, take it up with Emile first. Maybe he’ll listen to you now that you’re a bona fide rock-and-roll star. Not that he didn’t already think you and Mick hang out together on a regular basis.”
Michael called to the dogs, waiting anxiously at the door once they saw their master picking up their leashes. A waft of cold air reached into the living room to chill her neck briefly before dissipating in the new warmth of the room. Michael had gotten the heater running properly on his first day back, an occasion for joy since its subtle workings baffled Katherine.
With no need to do anything right away, Katherine turned back to the bothersome questions about why Pippa’s car had been vandalized. She tried to replay everything Pippa said she had done since the day of the museum visit. Had she inadvertently crossed the killer’s path? Had she speculated out loud in a way that frightened whoever did this? She hadn’t been with Katherine when the police inspector saw the garbage truck and got so excited. Yes, she had grilled Jeannette a bit, but the girl was clearly not involved. Had the teenager mentioned Pippa’s curiosity to someone in school? Someone who knew someone?
It was all so speculative and unsatisfactory. The note said that someone knew what Pippa was doing. Clearly, she was to stop doing it. The museum curator and her daughter were almost as much victims as Mme Sabine, but perhaps there was a connection through the museum. Katherine poured the last of the coffee and debated making a new pot. No, she’d wait until Michael got back so it would be hot.
The only other place Pippa had been was L’Isle-sur-Serein when the mannequin was fished out of the river and where Pippa had picked up the mysterious gold cross. It must be that someone saw her do it and then saw her talking to the police, which was when Pippa met the cute gendarme who spoke English.
The sound of barking, one deep with warning, one high-pitched and nervous, came through the closed window. She got up, leaving the wool shawl on the chaise, and put the kettle on again. Later today, she would walk over to Pippa’s house and share her thinking. Maybe Pippa could remember who else she saw at the river. Katherine realized that she was skirting Michael’s intense desire that she abandon this project, but Pippa needed protection. Then, right before the kitchen door opened, as she heard the dogs’ claws scratching the slate step, it occurred to her. What if the warning was directed at her too? What if it was aimed at both of them?
* * *
Pippa peeked out from behind curtains in a living room window before she opened the door. She was dressed in a shapeless skirt, under which she wore black tights decorated visibly with cat hair, and over which she wrapped a cardigan that had lived long past its intended life. Spectacles were perched on her head and her spiky hair looked as though it hadn’t been combed, or whatever you did when you had had an asymmetrical, short haircut gelled to stick out like porcupine quills. But, Katherine noted, Pippa’s cheeks were rosy and the haircut gave her a gamine look that livened her face. Did looks matter, though? Maybe Pippa would much prefer to be known as a bestselling author living a romantic life in Burgundy. Romantic, yes. Dangerous, probably not.
“Good for you,” she said as Pippa waved her in. “If I didn’t have Michael and two dogs, I’d be thinking twice about opening the door today too. How are you this morning?”
“I didn’t think I would sleep at all, but I slept like a child. I was so fagged out from everything that I think my brain and my body gave up. You?”
“I woke up a few times, but I’ll be fine.” Katherine glanced at Pippa’s outfit.
“Oh, I know, it’s rubbish. But this jumper was my mum’s and I keep it around as a reminder. Plus it’s Shetland wool, the best.”
Katherine processed “jumper” to mean what Americans called sweaters. She wondered what the Brits called dresses that Americans might call jumpers, mostly worn by little girls, but scolded herself to stay focused on the main reason for her visit.
“Tea?”
“No, thanks. I’ve had my coffee already. Am I interrupting something?”
“I’m working on my manuscript, the one about the killing at the castle, but I keep flashing to the new murder so it’s not going brilliantly.” The electric kettle steamed and Pippa poured herself a fresh mug. The aroma of strong black tea wafted toward Katherine. “Let’s sit in my study. It’s warmer there.” She led the way and flapped one hand at a black cat curled up on the only seat other than her desk chair. It rose slowly and strolled out, giving the women a look that plainly said it wouldn’t forget this affront. Katherine sank into the vacated armchair, realizing at the last instant that the springs were old and that she was a lot closer to the floor than she had anticipated. Good thing, she thought, that she hadn’t been holding a scalding mug of tea. Pippa didn’t seem to notice.
“Have you decided to abandon your interest in Madame’s death?” she asked.
Pippa opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again to speak. “Not exactly,” she said, dragging the word out, “although I fully intend to make it look like I have. I see no reason to speak to the police again. I hid the cross but took a smartphone picture of it first. I won’t do anything obvious like go looking for the wig and I promise to leave poor Madame and the museum alone.”
“All of that is good, but what will you do, then?”
“Use my brainpower and my computer,” Pippa said. “‘Love,’ I told myself this morning, ‘think of it as a new mystery novel.’ You know, write out a list of possible suspects, a timeline of what you know, the clues you have, or rather I have, although I rather hope you’ll compare notes? And a map of what was found where.”
“And you think you can deduce the answer that way, like Hercule Poirot?”
“Why not? All it needs is logic, and I will think more clearly if I’m not looking over my shoulder for a butcher, well, in this case, I mean a butcher of pigs.”
Katherine froze. What had Pippa said? “My god, M. Sabine is a butcher of pigs. Pippa, think of it, who could get hold of a butchered pig more easily than the butcher? Until this moment, I hadn’t put the two pieces together.” She shivered.
“But we know he didn’t do it. Is there another butcher shop? Would that person be jealous enough of M. Sabine’s success that he’d kill half of the competing shop’s management?”
“Don’t be silly,” Katherine said. “I’m probably reaching to mention it. It’s a coincidence. The pig’s head might not imply anything like that and, anyway, the regular butcher sells entirely different things, roasts and chops and the like. Really, Pippa, let’s not stray into fantasies.”
Pippa’s face as she looked over at Katherine signaled her hurt feelings. At that moment, the older woman was keenly aware of the differences in their ages. Pippa was young enough to be her daughter, but not as malleable as Jeannette. Jeannette had no mother. Pippa’s mother, however, was gone and what little Katherine had heard about the woman’s father suggested he wasn’t much of an influence.
“How about this? The real killer gets hold of a pig’s head. It can’t be that hard, really, if you think about it. He plants it so we will think it’s the butcher.”
Katherine had to admit that was a clever idea. “I wonder if the gendarmes are surveying farmers or meat suppliers right now? The scariest thing is not the head, which was there for shock value, but the note. What do we know about it and who knew enough about what we were doing to decide we needed to be stopped?”
“Written in French, so a French person?” Pippa said.
“Yes, most likely. And someone who could get into the car without attracting a lot of attention. Who might that fit?”
“A local?”
“A car thief, who’d know how to break into a car?”
“No,” Pippa said. “Anyone who’s been locked out of their own car knows how to stick a wire hanger inside the window to reach the latch.”
“I don’t,” Katherine said.
Pippa gave her a pitying look.
“What if the person who did this isn’t the killer?” Katherine said suddenly. “Maybe the killer paid someone to do it, not saying why, of course.”
“If that person knows French, though, wouldn’t he read the note and figure out it wasn’t a prank? By now, I expect, he’d be at the police station telling them everything.”
“True. I was trying to broaden the possible candidates, but it’s harder than I thought.”
Pippa opened her laptop and began to type. “A man, because it wouldn’t be easy to drag her around.” She looked up. “That wasn’t a nice way to put it. Sorry.”
“Someone who wouldn’t make people suspicious if they saw him,” Katherine said. “He either came in the front door, and Madame would certainly remember anyone suspicious, or he climbed over a wall or somehow knew about the little door arrangement. And he had to get into your car.”
“With a pig’s head under his arm,” Pippa said, and suddenly the two women started laughing. Once they started, they couldn’t stop. One would pause and then get a fresh case of giggles. Almost screeching, running out of breath, Katherine managed to say, “Oh stop, stop. This isn’t funny.”
And with that, the laughter stopped as quickly as it had started. Pippa wiped tears out of her eyes and Katherine rummaged for a tissue in her tote bag. Silence descended in the little room.
“No, it’s not,” Pippa said. “But I feel better.”
Katherine looked at her watch. “I have to get back, but if I think of anything, I’ll tell you when we meet tomorrow to go to the memorial service. I’ll drive.”
“You’ll have to unless someone brings back my car. Can we stop at the police station after the service and maybe they’ll give it back to me?”
They agreed and as Katherine left, she did something she didn’t always do with Pippa. She pulled the younger woman in for the double kisses. “This will get better soon, I know it will.”